Game Over
by Pure Taco
Summary: Two misfits, an arcade, and video games. [Modern AU]
1. Wallflower

**Things to know before reading:**

**1) _New name. New story. All that cool renewal stuff, my former alias is TacoSwimmer._**

**2) _Credits to Janice Chu (churon on Tumblr) For the cover art!_**

**3) _Special thanks once again to my readers for putting up with my crap. You guys are, as always, amazing._**

**4)_ I am not ditching The Alternative: Part II! This is just running parallel to it :)_**

**Enjoy reading!**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

**WALLFLOWER**

* * *

**RILEY**

It's official.

_Triple Phoenix_ is a goner.

The machine has gone kaput. One of the wires freaked out and short circuited the whole system. Now the screen glitches and the bottom base of the machine starts to overheat whenever someone tries to play. Riley's told Henry about it, so he scribbled some words on a piece of paper and tacked it to the game's screen.

_OUT OF ORDER._

The words have been written in a fat, sloppy font. Typical Henry fashion. Riley frowned at the paper and shot a glance at Henry, who could only shrug.

"I'd lose all my fingers, and I'd still have better handwriting than you." she said dryly.

But he ignored her. "I called the technicians," and Henry patted the arcade machine twice. "They'll wheel it out by the end of the week."

And that was that.

Riley's not sure if anyone would miss the game. As far as she knows, it'll be wheeled out for good. Like, it'll-end-up-in-the-junkyard good. She should feel sad, but there isn't any emotion in her for a game that hasn't grabbed anyone's attention. Seriously. The only loyal audience it has are those who were obsessed with the television series, and that was directed to _children_.

It had some hype during its release (which was a year ago) but now it's faded out. Grayed. Kind of like _Pacman._

She's just kidding herself.  
Everybody loves _Pacman._

The damn machine is still sitting there at the edge of the arcade. It's the eighties model, and Henry says that it's only been repaired once. Riley's positive that it'll outlive her. Even with all the new releases, the game remains a classic. A retro challenge. Sometimes she even gives it a shot or two, but leaves it for the younger kids.

Not like it matters that she plays it. She's got the highest score in almost all the game systems.

Even _Contra._

Even that battle with Mike Tyson in goddamn _Punch Out._

Most of the scoreboards have her username at the top, and it's always a treat for her when she sees people trying to take the crown. (She watches them, as creepy as it sounds, and gets the satisfaction whenever they fail.) The only games she doesn't bother with are those huge, expensive App Stores. Literally. They've already wheeled in the physical, life-sized models of _Candy Crush_ and_ Temple Run _two weeks ago. God. Riley could just play the games on her phone for free if she wanted to.

On the bright side, they've got _The Turning._

It's probably the only game she doesn't mind wasting her coins on.

It's probably the only game _ever_ that she doesn't mind playing over and over again.

To her,_ The Turning_ is an art. And it doesn't matter if she's unlocked all the characters and executed all the finishing moves and gotten all the achievements. She keeps on playing. She sticks to her favorite fighter, Angel Knives, always. Because she's her world. Her spirit-something. It's quite an obsession, because Riley has three different posters of her, a figurine of her, a phone case . . . She's even got a pair of slippers from her fifteenth birthday.

She's attached, but she doesn't care. The game is what Riley lives on. On the scoreboards, her username is ranked first.

In the world.

She doesn't play it as much as she's used to. Nowadays she just checks to see if anyone has overtaken her spot (which is highly unlikely, because the second placer is twelve thousand points behind.)

She frequents the arcade here. Mostly because it's the nearest one, and her cousin—Henry—works there for spring break so now she shamelessly freeloads from him whenever she visits. Sometimes Sam comes along with her, but he's got his own I'm-a-thirteen-year-old-boy priorities. Apparently.

Today it's just her.

Henry's gone for a thirty-minute break and he's assigned her to keep watch. The store's security cameras do most of the job anyway, so Riley decides to lean on the wall, listening to some mainstream music that plays out of the speakers of the arcade. Riley lets her shoes tap to the beat as she watches the assortment of kids bustling in and out of the doors.

And then she comes in.

She's the girl who tries to open the entrance doors — then realizes that they're automatic and now her hand is awkwardly reaching out at some pockets of air. She retracts the arm, walks in coyly, and places her hands in her pockets.

Riley subconsciously tilts her head.

The girl's position is from her right side, a few paces away, and Riley's only gotten a quarter view of her face. She has a green army coat that's irrevocably too big, and a pink hoodie's donned on her from the inside. The girl's young. Pale-skinned. And due to the distance, the only thing Riley can properly examine is the girl's slightly copper hair, tied casually to a ponytail.

Riley realizes that it's becoming socially unacceptable to be staring this long and shakes her head lightly. She pulls out her phone, tries to not look at her, but takes glances anyway.

The next time Riley looks up, the girl walks ahead, shuffling past the other folks with her eyes cast completely on the floor. Like she doesn't want to be noticed. Riley observes that the girl's heading over to her far left where _Triple Phoenix_ should be, and that grabs her attention. By the time the girl reaches the arcade machine her eyes are still glued on the floor—_does she even know that it's off?_—and she fishes out some coins from her jacket's pocket before looking up.

She then notices the paper with Henry's poorly-written letters.

_OUT OF ORDER._

Riley can feel the scowl creeping unto the girl's lips. She could sense the seething air that pushes out of her nose. The toes that curl up bitterly within her shoes. Riley's tempted to smirk in amusement, but her lips form a straight line instead, because_ get your shit together, Riley,_ and focuses back on watching the store like she's supposed to—

_Thump._

The noise isn't even that loud or head-turning, but it's enough to make Riley snap her attention back at the girl, her brown eyes layered with curiosity and mild annoyance.

So. She just kicked the machine with her foot.

Kicked is more of an overstatement — she aggressively _nudged_ it, which sounds almost adorable.

Well. Anyway. The girl's looking at the machine like it stole her cat or something.

Unsatisfied by the nudge, she tries to do it again.

And it makes a much louder thump. Like a pan-dropping-on-hard-concrete thump. Some pairs of eyes fly to her direction, and she sheepishly looks away, her gaze worryingly heading to the counter to check if she's been caught.

Riley scoffs under her breath and lowers her eyes to her phone.

_Dork._

* * *

**ELLIE**

Maybe she could take the cab back home.

_Ha,_ Ellie thinks. _Like I'll use my cash on that._

She might as well.

It's the only time she has enough money for anything, and she can't even spend it.

The coins sit inside her pocket disappointingly. Like they've been let down. There's four of them — all quarters, and she was planning to use them up for _Triple Phoenix_.

That stupid, unavailable game.

Of course it wouldn't be working. Of course it had to be down the day she visits the damn arcade. Of _course._

As far as she knows, there isn't any other place that has the game in Boston. She could just Google the locations — then remembers that she's one of those endangered species who have old Nokias as phones.

Crap.

Public libraries have public computers, right?  
It's Sunday, she realized. The library's closed on Sundays.

Double crap.

She doesn't even recall ending up on the ground floor, maybe she was too crabbed to remember going down the escalator.

Whatever.

She doesn't care, because all she feels like doing is clenching her fists, her jaw, her eyes, her everything. She clenches them so hard until it hurts. She wants to scream.

But she doesn't want to scream over some stupid video game.

That stupid.

_Stupid._

Video game.

She shouldn't have bothered with it in the first place.

_It's not a big deal, _she tries to tell herself. But convincing only makes it worse. She relaxes the tensed muscles and opens her eyes, and she isn't even given time to brace herself when a group of younger kids barrel past her with toy airplanes_._ Ellie lets them knock her around and accepts their rushed apologies, watching as they climb back up the escalator as if it were a boulder.

Ellie sighs.

She's got an hour left before her flimsy phone rings. An hour before the car arrives at the mall's entrance to pick her up. An hour of wandering around aimlessly inside a human-infested labyrinth.

Ellie sighs again and eyes the escalator. Raja's Arcade is just upstairs to the right of it. She remembers seeing countless other video games that were there — games that were probably a hundred times better than stupid, out-of-order _Triple Phoenix._

She's got an hour left, she might as well put it to good use.

Before she even begins riding up the escalator, Ellie writes a mental note to herself for the tenth time that the arcade's doors are _automatic_.

* * *

**RILEY**

Above the music, she can hear feet padding against the floor. It's nearing her, but she doesn't bother looking up.

"Are you sexting over there?"

She lowers the phone and rolls her eyes.

"I wish,"

Henry walks closer, smiling because he's holding two cups of smoothies. "Any shootouts while I was gone?" he asks.

Riley puts the phone in her jeans' pockets. "None, unfortunately."

"Damn," Henry shakes his head in mock-disappointment and hands her one of the smoothies. As soon as she drinks, her face contorts to a grimace. She shoots Henry a cold look.

He tries to be oblivious. "What?"

"This isn't mango-banana."

"It's _chocolate_-banana," he says. "Get over yourself, kid. Everybody loves chocolate."

She rolls her eyes again and continues drinking from the straw. They settle for a while until Henry stands apart from her and asks, "How long've you been leaning there?"

"Dunno. A while, maybe?"

"I'm surprised that you aren't glued to the wall yet."

"I'm surprised that your boss hasn't fired you for slacking on your ass."

That gets him good.

They continue to bicker, and Henry heads back to the counter before he actually gets fired, leaving Riley alone with her unappreciated chocolate shake. The usual routine starts to sink in, and she's about to continue on sulking when the automatic doors slide open for the nth time this afternoon.

Only it's different.

Because the same girl from before steps inside.

* * *

**ELLIE**

She feels so out-of-place.

Again.

Like she's the wrong color a kid would put on a tree.

Like everything else is bolder. Formed. Tangible.  
Like everything else makes her feel flat and bland.

She wants to turn back.

_Don't be stupid,_ Ellie thinks. She silently breathes in the air and takes some steps forward. _I can do this._

Then the music enters her ears.  
Then the heater above radiates.

There are noises everywhere. She didn't even know it could be this loud.

Ellie fishes out the Walkman from her pocket and puts the earphones on. She presses play, and all the members of The Smiths give her a welcoming embrace. The music helps soothe her.

But the song's still not enough to drown out her reality.

It's warm inside. Too warm for that huge coat of hers — yet she insists on keeping it on. She's too abashed to care either way, and while the music glides across the walls, Ellie resumes exploring the arcade because her feet're going to places she hasn't permitted them to. From one place to the next, she shyly eyes posters and examines video game rentals near the counter where an employee stands, sipping on a shake.

_Jesus,_ she wonders, after a while of observing._ It's stranger the second time._

There's apparently a small replica of the solar system hanging from the ceiling, just below the ice hockey table where two girls are found playing. Ellie can vaguely hear the rolling bells of a game's jingle and the gunshots of a shooter. She moves again and rows of racing simulators are to her far right, where she can see teenagers competing for ranks.

Ellie heads to another column of arcade cabinets and considers her options.

Racing simulators. Claw machines with stuffed toys or candies. _Donkey Kong_ and_ Dance Dance Revolution._ There's an abundance of options, Ellie realizes, all of which are either unappealing or too difficult for her. The innumerable amount of games leads her to wonder on how she didn't notice any of them the first time she arrived. It's not like it matters anyway, the coins in her pockets won't even allow her to try more than four.

Whatever. She could pity her underprivileged situation later. Ellie takes a turn to another row, eyeing the games from left to right until she stops in her tracks.

Because there it is.

The arcade machine is just across.

Her eyes trail to it timorously. The blueish glow of its bezel lures her in.

Ellie slowly walks over and stands in front of it.

* * *

**RILEY**

_The Turning._

Of all the games, she has to pick that one.

The girl's standing in front of it now, and Riley has a side view of her. The expression on the redhead's face is equivalent to someone finding the holy grail.

_God, _Riley thinks,_ she's so weird_.

She's not even exaggerating it — the girl's looking at a video game as if she's never seen one before.

And it seems to annoy Riley rather than amuse her, because she doesn't understand how the girl's presence is distracting. She looks relatively plain—except for that heavy coat and outdated Walkman she's carrying—and Riley's seen prettier girls on the front of magazine covers and billboards. (Not like she's into them. God.)

Her concentration grows, and she doesn't realize that there are mild drops of sweat collecting on her forehead. Riley subconsciously wipes them away with a hand. If she's perspiring in just her light layers of clothing, then Riley didn't want to know how the redhead still manages to keep that huge coat of hers on.

_Maybe she's just_ begging_ for a heatstroke,_ she speculates. _Maybe she's just too timid to hand it over to Henry at the counter. Maybe . . ._

Riley should stop.

Whatever she's doing, it's getting unhealthy.

* * *

**ELLIE**

A sharp, bloodied font is plastered at the top of the marquee in white.

_The Turning._

The screen and side art implies that it's a one-on-one brawler, but the title sounds more of like a zombie game.

There's a coin slot in front of her, and Ellie warily takes out a quarter from her pocket. When she slides the coin in, the screen starts to glow fervently, and music from the cabinet's speakers enter her ear cavities with a tribal-like drum sound.

Ellie pulls out her earphones and sets aside the Walkman. Her heartbeat begins to match with the rhythm.

Suddenly she's gripping onto the buttons and joystick, and the screen glows in white and whirls her into a wide jungle. She's seeing it at an eagle's view, and Ellie's eyes engulf the environment around her, nonplussed at the artistry of her surroundings. The drums grow louder that even the music of the arcade store seems to fade away. The game takes her higher in the air, and Ellie feels like a bird, flying above the jungle.

And then another flash of white passes Ellie's vision that she becomes temporarily blinded. When she reacquires her sight, a gigantic, ancient, mystical building looms over her as the drums continue to crescendo. Her eyes look up and notice the virtual sky, stunning as it is. Stretching endlessly across, it is blotched with blue and orange colors. Dusky clouds with faded red linings watch as the cinematic view pans around the large superstructure. Ellie can hardly blink, her eyes are too busy soaking in the game's beauty. She didn't realize how advanced the graphics are now, there are even times where she forgets the reality she's in.

Then some words in sharp font hurriedly slam themselves onto the screen. It vibrates the overlay, where her hands are gripping onto the buttons.

A deep, rumbling voice appears and reads the text out loud:

_WELCOME TO THE SHADOW TEMPLE._

* * *

**RILEY**

Well.

It's been an hour.

Riley went to do other things earlier, and has come back to find that the girl's still been playing the damn game with fervor.

She's pretty sure that the amount of sweat the redhead's producing due to that coat of hers is enough to fill a glass pitcher. Riley would be glad to take it off herself — then remembers that she doesn't even know the girl and that it would be rude to meddle with the choices of someone else's attire.

Then again . . .

She was certainly sweating, which made it clear that she wasn't very used to the warmth of the store. (The fact that she easily perspires makes her even weirder.) Riley tries to get a better view of her as inconspicuously as she can, and ends up ten feet away from the redhead, gaining a frontal view close enough to see her but still too far to make any solid descriptions.

There's one thing she notices, though.

A scar.

On her right eyebrow.

* * *

**ELLIE**

Ellie's about to play another round when she reaches into her pocket and finds balls of lint instead of quarters.

Crap.

She's all out.

Ellie notices how clammy her hands have gotten and wipes them on the sides of her pants. She doesn't acknowledge the skin below her collarbone, however, which is practically layered with thin sweat. Her lips are dry when she licks them and her eyes are all shaky. (She still sees bright flashes of colors from the game if she closes them.) The music starts to dig into her ears again now that the game's sounds have disappeared, and Ellie suddenly realizes how parched she is.

How long has she been playing?

She takes two steps back to try and regain more fragments of her conscience — but bumps into someone else instead.

Ellie whirls around.

A girl stands in front of her.

* * *

**RILEY**

The redhead mutters out some words.

"I'm sorry,"

She doesn't recall approaching the girl, but her voice is what Riley expected it to be: Young and uncertain and shy and tired.

Suddenly she's looking at her.

So Riley's looking right back.

She sees green eyes that are dark and soft. There's a faint scar that dashes her right eyebrow, and she's got this rosy complexion with light freckles across the cheekbones. Riley blinks for a moment — then hides the look of fascination and feigns neutrality, taking a small step away from the redhead and arching a brow.

* * *

**ELLIE**

_Dark,_ she observes. _Dark skin and dark hair and dark clothes and dark eyes._

"I'm sorry," Ellie mutters, after realizing her position. Her back faces the arcade machine while she sheepishly scratches her head, timid due to the girl's pair of brown, deepened eyes curiously watching her.

"No, it's all good," she replies.

It takes a second for Ellie to speak back, but it feels like an hour.

"Oh, alright . . . "

Then there's a silence.  
There shouldn't be one.

They're standing apart now, and Ellie can't find the courage to move away nicely. Jesus.

"Are you . . . okay?" the girl asks.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

"You sure?"

She nodded faintly. "Yeah, of course."

But the girl notices how much Ellie's been sweating (as peculiar as it sounds) and thinks otherwise.

"You know," she tells her, "if you want a drink, I could just lend you my canteen—"

"No, God." Ellie realizes how irritated she sounds (she's just abashed) and quickly apologizes. "Sorry, I'm just . . . I . . . "

And then her phone rings. Loud enough for both of them to hear.

Ellie takes in a breath.

_Oh, thank God._

She pulls out her cellphone to check — which was a stupid move on her part because now the girl knows that she uses a goddamned Nokia.

"I have to go." she says hurriedly, and Ellie walks past the girl before she even gets the chance to say anything.

_Jesus._

She should have just taken the cab back home.

* * *

**RILEY**

Well.

That happened.

She feels irritated — both at herself for even initiating a conversation and at the redhead for just generally bothering her._ She was even weirder up close, _she thinks. How Riley managed to walk up to the girl is beyond her.

Riley's still staring at the entrance doors, her trance interrupted when a boy politely asks her to move so he can play a round of _The Turning. _Riley allows it and sighs quietly to herself. She pulls out her smartphone and starts to head out for some snacks when the boy from before suddenly calls for her attention.

She turns around.

"Sorry, but . . . " He holds his palm out. "I saw this lying on the front panel. Do you own it?"

Riley looks at the item in the boy's hand and widens her eyes.

Shit.

The Walkman.

...

The girl left it behind.

* * *

**So!**

**First of all I'd just like to say that I'll be out of town this week so you won't be seeing me for a good five days or so. (Not that it matters since I'm pretty much dead in between updates.) But anyway, that was the first chapter of Game Over! Woo! ****I really enjoyed working on this, it was fun!**

**Also, many of you have asked if there was any way you could contact me and ask me general questions. I actually have a Tumblr blog that I regularly use, so you can check that out in my profile page if you want :)**

**Leave your thoughts in a review, I would love to hear them! And thanks for reading, I'll see you all again soon :)**


	2. Downpour

**Hey all, thanks for the feedback! I'm back with the new addition. After this, I'll be working on the third chapter of TA: Part II :)**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

**DOWNPOUR**

* * *

**ELLIE**

She lists down her options:

_1)_

_2)_

Shit.

It's late in the afternoon, and Ellie's sitting on the edge of her bed with two hands covering her eyes. The open window beside her blows in a soft wind.

It should be soothing.

It's not.

Because she doesn't know what to do.

What _can_ she do?

Walk back to the mall?  
To look for that girl?

"Hey, sorry for leaving you so abruptly there, I didn't mean to go like that, I was in a hurry. But thanks for offering a drink from your canteen, though. I really appreciate your Christian-like efforts. Do you have my Walkman?"

Jesus.

She still doesn't know what to do.

Her options are little to none. It's already nearing dusk, she has no money on her to take a cab, and she's definitely not going to call Marlene again to get her around the city — Ellie'd only feel like she'd give her more problems.

It's not that Marlene doesn't want to help her . . . she does. A lot.

She helps her out so much it's becoming jeopardous.

Before spring break it was always Marlene who would pick her up from school in her rundown car. Her eyes were heavy and strained whenever Ellie saw her. (Marlene looking decent enough was once every blue moon.) Too often that it became concerning. The look of fatigue on her face, the graying strands, the smell of cigarettes . . . Ellie told Marlene that she could just walk herself back home, that it would only take ten minutes, but the woman was stubborn.

And now Ellie's too worried for Marlene to discuss about her Walkman dilemmas, so that means she hasn't got any transportation or money to get herself around. If she were to borrow cash from the others . . . _ha._ Slim chance.

She knows how money-conscious the kids are in her group home, it'll be a miracle if one of them actually _lends_ her some change.

At this point, panhandling looks like her only option.

Ellie rubs her temples in frustration. The sourness is evident, she knows she isn't going to the mall today.

_So maybe I could try going back tomorrow . . ._

Well.

If she even finds some sort of transport.  
If she even manages to scrounge up some cash.  
If she even works up the courage to talk to _that girl._

Ellie sighs in frustration.

Shit.

* * *

**RILEY**

The redhead doesn't show up the following day.

Or the day after that.

Sometimes she could have _sworn_ it was her. Like, there were at least four different girls who came in and Riley got so paranoid she had to double check. None of them had the eyebrow scar, though. Or the shade of green in their eyes. Or the faded spatter of freckles . . .

Or the weirdness.

God.

It really is getting unhealthy.

She doesn't even need to be at the arcade — Riley could just hand the Walkman over to Henry and ask him to keep an eye out for the redhead instead. It would do her good to take a breather, after all. Riley's spent like, what — three hours so far at Raja's? She might faint if she keeps this going.

And whenever she does have a break, she'd just head to the food stalls near the mall's entrance so she could keep an eye out for the girl.

Riley's not sure if she's doing it to be a good person anymore.

Maybe she's gotten dangerously obsessed.

Maybe both.

* * *

**ELLIE**

At first she was going to walk to the mall. On foot.

It would have taken roughly twenty minutes.

She's even brought her backpack along too, the one she kept since grade school with its tired fabric and malfunctioning zippers. Packing for the walk was one of the easiest parts, even getting out of the group home wasn't as difficult as she thought it'd be. (She told Trevor that she was heading to a friend's house across the street to hang, and he bought it completely. _Ha._)

Now Ellie's three blocks away and counting, her movements go briskly in the spring wind with her army coat flapping behind her.

She's waited_ two days_ for this, she needs to get to Liberty Gardens as soon as possible.

But something grabs her attention.

There's a lone bicycle ahead of her.

She slows down and goes closer to examine. It's leaning on an electric pole, and the bike looks like something the poor children from _Annie_ would ride. One of the handlebar grippers are missing, the spokes on the wheels are rusting, and the saddle's fabric has moth holes in it.

The whole thing looks mildly distasteful, even with Ellie's low standards. She scrunches her nose in disapproval and notices the cardboard resting on the bicycle's wheel, some words are written in a sharp and bold font.

_FREE TO USE, OK CONDITION._

She starts to survey her surroundings, making sure that no one's trying to pull a prank on her or something. There aren't much folks on the street, and yet a million thoughts begin swimming in her head — most of them rendering her situation as unsafe and risky.

Who can blame her?

She's alone, the bike doesn't even look proper, and she may as well need another tetanus shot before touching the damn thing.

But then Ellie remembers her Walkman and the girl and the amount of time it would take to get to the mall and suddenly.

She's on the bicycle.

Crap.

Making the beginning move won't be easy. Ellie makes it an effort to take the first pedal, and the bicycle clumsily creaks forward that she loses her balance. _Jesus._ Ellie levels herself and takes in a deep breath, she grips the handlebars so hard her knuckles go white. Her experience with these things have gotten stale, she hasn't ridden a bike in months.

But she has no other option.

Ellie pedals again, careful this time, and the bicycle seems more willing to follow. It creaks and groans and wobbles its way forward like a malfunctioning robot, but it works. Five grueling minutes pass and she starts getting a hang of it. She's cautiously strolling past utility poles and small intersections with houses lining the sides. Five more minutes go by and the creaking reduces and her pedaling goes moderately faster.

Her anxiety starts to drain.

Ellie focuses less on getting the bike to move and starts eyeing her surroundings. The streets are quiet that it's almost serene. The wind feels great on her face, the roads are clear, and Ellie looks up to find the sky staring down at her. It's as blue as the ocean today, with birds flying west and the clouds moving east.

A surreal feeling of freedom enchants her, because it's finally happening. The thrill of speed overcomes her fear, making her forget about the rusting spokes and the creakiness and the constant wobble that suddenly she wants—

One of the pedals snaps.

The bicycle veers violently and Ellie stumbles to the ground.

* * *

**RILEY**

"Is that even yours?"

It's Sam.

He comes up with his curious eyes and leans next to Riley on the wall. She has the Walkman in her hand, and the earphones are suspended in the air. "Some girl left it here two days ago." she replies. And the two days seem like two minutes.

Riley knows the scene verbatim — she can still see the look on the redhead's face before she went . . . the anxiety was plastered all over her. She also remembered that the girl's phone had been ringing, and Riley saw her pull it out: the dated Nokia. It was uncommon to see such an old version — she hasn't seen those kinds of phones since she was like, seven.

"Oh . . . So you just took it for yourself?"

Riley raises an eyebrow, "No, Sam. _God,_" and rolls her eyes. "I went down to chase after her . . . but she was gone by then."

He lets out a sound that resembles a grunt of understanding and moves an inch closer.

"Let me see that,"

Riley unwillingly hands the Walkman over. It doesn't surprise her a moment later when he puts on the earphones and presses play. His face is calm for a moment, until the music fills his ears and Riley spots the corners of his mouth twitch up. She gives him a suspecting look.

Sam looks at her and scoffs.

"This song is totally from _The Breakfast Club._"

Interesting. "How the hell are you even listening to that above all the noise?"

"I don't know, but man," He laughs and bobs his head to the beat. "This is probably the most eighties thing I've ever heard. You listened to the songs yet?"

Riley looks at the Walkman and shrugs plainly.

"Just some,"

She's lying.

She's listened to _all_ of it.

The evening after the girl left, Riley's curiosity got the best of her. She was examining the device in her bedroom, checking out the mixtape the girl had with the earphones already on her. Most of the songs sounded twenty years old (understandable since you didn't actually expect modern tunes on a goddamn Walkman.)

There were some she could identify — old songs from rock bands like Hum, Pink Floyd, Simple Minds, The Smiths — and others that she'd never heard of or were too bland for her that she had to skip. Riley didn't expect her music taste to be that bizarre . . .

It kind of just added up to her general weirdness.

"Are you gonna stay here for the rest of the afternoon?" Sam asks after a while, having already given the Walkman back.

She purses her lips. "I'll give it two more hours, I guess. Why, you goin' someplace?"

"Yeah . . . " he admits sheepishly, a hand on the back of his neck. " . . . to my friend's house. I'll be carpooling with him in a few minutes."

Riley sighs. _Of course. _How can she forget? The I'm-a-thirteen-year-old-boy priorities.

"Sam, your brother—"

"—already knows. Relax." and he jams his hands in his pockets. "Tell Henry I'll be fine, okay? I'll be back home after dinner."

_After_ dinner?

"I'll tell him you got kidnapped and held for ransom."

"_Riley._"

She rolls her eyes again. "Fine, whatever. Just don't get pregnant or something."

When Sam takes leave, Riley's usual sulking continues where it's left off.

For ambiguous reasons, she half-expects the arcade doors to open with the redhead dorkily stumbling inside.

* * *

**ELLIE**

Everything hurts.

Once Ellie's aware that her cheek is kissing the concrete, she lolls her head away and groans. A minute passes before she musters up the energy left in her to get up. And getting up is _hella_ hard. Because Ellie's knees wobble and throb, her side where she has fallen on is aching, and she's pretty sure that one of her shoes have gotten off during the fall.

The fabric of her pants — her only pair of jeans that are comfortable enough to wear — have been slightly torn by the uneven asphalt. She brushes off the dirt that has scraped her arms, puts her shoe back on, and chews the inside of her mouth. Because of the impact, some parts of her skin have been scratched and bruised.

That _stupid_ bicycle.

It's near the curb, lying horizontally on the concrete like it's mocking her. _I told you so,_ it seems to say. But Ellie's having none of it.

She walks over to the bike . . .

And swings her foot down.

Hard.

_Thwang._

"'_OK CONDITION'_ my ass . . . " she mutters. The kick sores her foot even more, but she doesn't care, it felt surprisingly good.

_Right,_ Ellie thinks. _The Walkman._ She hugs her sides to dull the pain and looks beyond the road.

On the bright side, it's saved her fifteen minutes of walking.

* * *

**RILEY**

Henry pulls out a bill from his wallet and slides it across the counter.

"Shift ends in twenty," he says. "Mind gettin' me a smoothie? _Melon-flavored,_ you know me. You can go get yourself one too, if you want."

She gives Henry a neutral stare, wrinkling the five-dollar bill in her hand.

"You sure you don't want _chocolate-banana?_" she asks dryly.

"Ha."

After a thirty-second conversation about the importance of smoothie flavors, Riley tucks the bill safely in her pocket and heads out of the arcade. The mall's peculiarly crowded for a weekday, even if it is spring break. She gives way for other people passing by and moves past the escalator. The smoothie stand is only a few yards away when a voice suddenly ropes her back.

"Hey, wait,"

And instantly, she knows.

The redhead.

* * *

**ELLIE**

Fuck.

Okay.

Yeah, it's definitely the girl.

She wants to laugh at her situation — to think that she rode a decrepit bike getting here, broke it, bruised herself, and walked the remaining steps to the mall for a goddamn Walkman. Her feet are sore, her knees sting, and there are stubborn scratch marks on her arms from the asphalt. She wants to tell the girl what the past days have done to her — that maybe if stupid, out-of-order,_ Triple Phoenix_ wasn't broken, none of this would have ever happened.

But all Ellie can do is to stare at her.

She hasn't thought of the next step in her plan after calling the girl's attention. (Hell, she didn't even expect her to turn around _that_ fast.) She swallows a formidable lump in her throat and takes some steps forward. The girl does the same, her eyes gaining color the more Ellie closes in on her. The girl's wearing a black shirt and khaki shorts, her hair tied to a bun like it has been two days ago. She doesn't dress the same way Ellie sees other girls do, interestingly, with their skater skirts and cardigans and flora-based blouses and the air around them smelling like_ L'air du Temps_.

She's different.

Ellie rips away from her thoughts.

Because they're standing apart now.

So she meets her coffee eyes.

* * *

**RILEY**

"Hi," the redhead murmurs.

"Hey," she says back.

She's still wearing that stupid coat of hers.

There are scratches on her arm, her jeans are frayed, and her overall appearance looks concerning. Riley doesn't want to press, though. The last time she'd ask the redhead if she was okay, she ran away from her.

"You're from the arcade . . . right?" the girl asks sheepishly. "Two days ago, I was there. And . . . and I'm sorry that I couldn't get here sooner, but I was just wondering if . . . "

She trails off like she always does, and Riley wastes no time in delaying what she's waited two _goddamn_ days for. She pulls out the Walkman from her pocket and nonchalantly untangles the earphones before giving it to her.

"Yeah. You forgot this," Riley says, "here."

The redhead's emerald eyes gawk at the Walkman the same way they've gawked at_ The Turning._ Riley represses the urge to scoff. _God, she really is a fucking dork._

"Oh, man." the girl exhales in relief, taking the Walkman in her hands. "You've no idea what I've been through to get . . . . Thank you."

Riley slides her hands back into her pockets and shrugs. "Yeah."

_Yeah._

And that's it.

They should be parting ways at this point, with the shaking of hands and the bidding of farewells. But there's another silence between them instead. And awkwardness. There's a lot of awkwardness, apparently. Riley's not sure when it will ever run out. The seconds are going by painstakingly.

Then it happens.

One moment Riley's mouth is sealed, the next she feels it opening to speak.

She tries to stop herself.

Too late.

"What's your name?" she asks suddenly. Blurting them out like they've been wanting to escape her mouth. _Shit,_ she thinks, _where did that come from? _Her mind starts to go code red. She tries to calm down, convincing herself that it's just a simple question, that it isn't much of a big deal, and patiently waits for the redhead to answer her.

Only she doesn't.

So Riley's just staring at the redhead uncouthly, waiting for a reaction she knows isn't coming. She regains her own composure before she'll make a fool of herself and attempts to reword her question coolly.

"Well . . . _my_ name's Riley, for starters." she continues, avoiding the urge to cringe. "I mean, I saw you playing that game in the arcade and"—her words stumble around, Riley can notice how increasingly uncomfortable the air gets—"you were, well . . . "

Riley stops talking.

Because the girl starts to head down the escalator without saying another word.

* * *

**ELLIE**

Stupid.

It's not enough. She says it four more times in her head.

Stupid anxiety.  
Stupid bike.  
Stupid mall.  
Stupid _fucking_ girl.

Ellie runs down the escalator and pushes past the people in her way, indifferent to their stares and judgments. She doesn't even look behind her to see if _Riley's_ followed up, because what's the point of it? Ellie's already gotten what she came for, she didn't need to entertain some question from that stupid kid. Knowing her name now felt uncomfortable, like she's holding something she's not meant to have in her hands and she doesn't know what to do with it.

She never even asked for her stupid name.

By the time she exits Liberty Gardens and walks out on the sidewalk, she can no longer ignore the strange feeling of guilt in her stomach. It's a different sort of remorse, too.

Because what is she even guilty for?

Not telling her name?  
Not taking the cab back home two days ago?  
Leaving Riley at that place for the second time in a week?

_Stupid._

She shouldn't have gone to the mall in the first place.

* * *

**RILEY**

Well.

That happened.

Again.

Riley doesn't even try to follow her downstairs anymore. If the redhead didn't want to, then fine. Whatever. Riley doesn't care. The girl was way too much for her, anyway. Why does she need to worry about someone who can't even talk properly?

She doesn't need to waste her time on some basket case who owns old Nokias and listens to eighties music and wears ridiculous, huge-as-hell army coats when it's hot. She doesn't need to wait two days for some weird kid. She doesn't need to know her stupid name or what stupid place she comes from. Riley's got other priorities.

Like buying smoothies.

And this time, she's doing things her own way.

This time, she's going to get mango-_fucking_-banana.

* * *

**ELLIE**

She realizes that she's gonna have to walk back home.

For twenty minutes.

In the streets of Boston.

(Particularly, the southern area.)

Ellie's doing the brisk-walk method—running but not actually running—so effectively that she's knocked three blocks down in short time. It doesn't guarantee her complete safety, though. So Ellie already has her phone out, fingers ready to dial 911 if things go south. If anyone tries to snatch her up, then she's got her switchblade waiting hungrily for them in her pocket. Due to a strangely expansive knowledge of self-defense, Ellie can deal with kidnappers, robbers, muggers, gangs, and even street-side bullies if she's cautious enough.

What she can't deal with, though, is the approaching rain.

Ten minutes later, when the first drop hits her arm, Ellie assumes that it's her own sweat. But it takes about eight more raindrops and a darkening sky for anyone to convince her that she's gotten herself in the most shitty situation since the bike incident.

That's when lightning crackles the sky, and thunder booms in the distance.

Ellie looks up.

Shit.

There's a goddamn storm hitting Boston.

And she has to walk straight in it.

* * *

**RILEY**

They get inside the car as fast as possible.

"You good?" Henry asks, breathing heavily and checking himself. Both of their clothes have gotten mildly wet. (They've managed to get out of the mall just as soon as the drizzle morphed into a downpour.) Riley nods and fastens her seat belt. She's gotten the passenger's seat slightly damp.

"Let's get the hell back home," he says.

"Good idea."

The windshield is covered by droplets of rain, and the roof of their car's constantly making a drumming sound. Henry switches gears and moves out of the parking lot, making their way through the first street. Riley turns on the radio and sighs.

"Goddammit," Henry swears, activating the wiper blades. "The weatherman said sunny."

She scoffs and looks out the rain-spattered window.

"The weatherman's full of shit."

* * *

**ELLIE**

The weather is full of shit.

Of all the things she has in her backpack, there isn't a single fucking umbrella in it to relieve her situation. She's taken refuge at a nearby Korean drugstore, and the clerk is already giving her the look. (She can't really blame him, considering she's the one who's gotten the floor of the drugstore wet.) Ellie places her Walkman in the backpack and zips it up. She turns to face the clerk and gives a shy, apologetic smile to him.

"Sorry . . . "

The man only nods his head.

Ellie faces back to the doors, takes a deep breath, and braces herself.

_Cold_ is the first thing that comes to her head. Like, really, _really_ cold. The storm's winds bite at her and blow her around, and she's suddenly thankful for bringing the coat along with her. Ten seconds go by, and her scalp is already drenched. The rain is definitely torrential by this point, it's like a thousand _Nerf_ bullets are pounding down on her.

Jesus.

The weather is so full of shit.

* * *

**RILEY**

"Wait. Henry, hold up,"

The car starts to decelerate.

"What?"

The rain pelts against the windshield, and Riley squints her way through the mass of liquid pouring down on the car.

There's a figure ahead of them. They're walking hurriedly on the sidewalk.

"What, them?" Henry asks. "They a friend of yours?"

For a second Riley assumes that it's just some other unfortunate, typical person who's caught the rain while they've been walking. But the figure's shape looks familiar, and Riley's hoping it isn't who she thinks it is.

That's when the wiper blades sweep the rain off the windshield to afford a better view.

_Shit._

The figure is wearing a green fucking army coat.

* * *

**ELLIE**

There's a car honking behind her.

Ellie just ambles ahead on the sidewalk, not looking back, with her soaked clothes sticking uncomfortably on her skin like glue. The only thing she wants is to go home, but she doesn't know how or _where_.

Her vision is so limited that she has to keep an arm out to survey her surroundings. She takes shelter under store roofs every now and then, but it proves minimal comfort. The storm just keeps going. Raindrops pour relentlessly from her scalp and roll towards her cheeks that her eyes are red and stingy from the water. She knows she can't make it far if she keeps this going. She can't beat the rain.

The car honks again, louder and closer — she realizes that it's possibly for her. Ellie looks back this time and sees an old Legacy nearing the sidewalk. It slows and stops by the curb when it gets close enough.

That's when one of the side windows starts to roll down.

Ellie stops walking.

That's when she sees her. Even with the blinding rain roaring and crashing and flailing, she sees her.

Dark skin, dark hair, dark clothes, and dark eyes.

* * *

**RILEY**

The girl's soaked to the bone.

For a few seconds, the redhead's just standing there. Alarmed and confused. Her green eyes pierce through the torrential rain as she hugs her sides. _She looks small out in the open,_ Riley thinks. Like she's more vulnerable and fragile. But the storm continues crashing down on her because it doesn't care. Riley can feel the gushing winds and rain sweep in through the open window, and she realizes how cold it must be for the redhead.

She's still stuck in place — with her hands tucked to her side, her clothes are heavy and dripping. Riley notices how much the girl's shivering.

And then suddenly she's out of the car.

It's cold as hell, Henry's saying something, her black shirt is soaked, and she doesn't care. Riley heads to the car's rear door and holds it open for the redhead.

"Come on," she urges.

The girl doesn't even hesitate.

* * *

**ELLIE**

It's so warm in here.

"You okay, kid?" the young man asks.

"Yeah,"

Ellie practically _wiggled_ herself in, and now she's gotten the seats wet. She tries not to rest her back onto the spine of her own seat, since it's the only thing that hasn't been lathered yet with water. The driver eyes her concernedly in the mirror, but Ellie's too worried about the mess she's made in his car.

"Sorry . . . " she says softly, tone apologetic.

He gives her a polite smile. "No, it's all good. Make yourself comfortable, nothin' a little drying won't fix."

She still doesn't lean back.

The young man exhales and shifts gears, bringing the car back on the road. For a moment she feels relieved, internally _joyous_ now that she's finally out of the rain. The warm air of the heater comforts Ellie for a moment, and she closes her eyes, breathing in silently . . .

But then Ellie realizes that she's in a car with _her._

Her stomach churns.

_Of fucking course._

As if the past events with her aren't embarrassing enough, Riley has to see her like _that. _Drenched in the rain like she just came out of a swimming pool. She can't help but wonder — what did Riley think of her when she saw Ellie walking in the middle of a storm, looking soaked and sickly and shivering?

Helpless? Pitiful?

Is that why they picked her up?

Ellie slowly breathes in the warm air of the car. She's not sure where her dignity is at this point.

* * *

**RILEY**

It's abnormally quiet.

And Henry's giving her an accusing look.

"What?" she asks softly, voice slightly irate.

"There's an umbrella in the trunk, you know."

How the hell is she supposed to know that?

Before Riley starts another argument with him, Henry's eyes dart to the rearview mirror to look at the girl.

"Sorry," he says, "name's Henry. Riley's said you're a friend of hers?"

Shit.

The two girls share uneasy glances in the mirror.

"We bump into each other in the mall sometimes," the girl replies coolly, as if she's correcting him. (Of course, it's not like she'll tell him that she basically _runs_ away from Riley whenever they see each other in the mall. That would be different.)

Henry lets out a dry chuckle. "Lucky she found you out there in the storm, then. What were you doing outside? It's raining like hell."

Only the silence answers him, and the radio's songs lightly dab the air. Henry gives Riley an uncertain look, and she shrugs back like she's used to it.

But the redhead asks a question to break the ice instead.

"Do you know where to drop me off?"

* * *

**ELLIE**

She gives Henry the directions.

It grows quiet when they take her there, and it gives Ellie the opportunity to observe her surroundings. The rain has softened a little, and thanks to the heater, her clothes are starting to dry. She unties her ponytail for a moment to fix her hair, and suddenly catches Riley looking at her in the mirror.

Her brown eyes hurriedly move back to her smartphone.

Ellie scoffs lightly.

She has to admit, they're pretty good people. Taking her in, driving her back home — Riley's even gotten her black shirt soaked to get Ellie in the car. A mild pang of guilt hits her because of it. Riley's probably waited at that mall for hours, only to be left suddenly by the girl she's been waiting for and getting insulted behind her own back.

Ellie's a shitty human being, there's no denying it.

By the time she's fixed her ponytail and checked for her Walkman (because she's sure as hell not going to forget it again), they roll into Blue Hill avenue. The road where her home should be. Ellie looks for the two-story house, with its blue roof and off-white paint that's starting to peel off.

She finds it. It's just to the far right.

"There," Ellie says, pointing at it to Henry.

* * *

**RILEY**

Riley looks at the establishment beside them and widens her eyes.

_She lives in a group home?_

There is a decorative sign at the front of the house, with letters painted with a curvy, homey font. _Tarly Homes for Children, _it says. _Since 1978_.

Huh.

She's an orphan.

The design looks like it came from the late twentieth century, with a wide space and and an apple tree standing on the house's right. The place looks like it can house a number of five at the most, but she doesn't feel like asking the redhead to enlighten her. They've hardly talked to each other since the mall.

"Alright," Henry says, making Riley focus her attention back. "We're here."

Right.

The rain's gotten lighter, but there's still no way in hell she's escorting the redhead to the home without an umbrella.

She turns to Henry. "Did you open the trunk?" she asks.

"Yeah,"

Riley takes in a deep breath, opens the car door, and gets to the trunk as fast as she can to grab the umbrella. The whole thing takes ten seconds, Riley's ecstatic to see that her shirt is only mildly wet.

She opens the rear door.

The redhead says her thanks to Henry before wiggling herself back out. Riley holds the umbrella firmly in her hand and swallows a lump in her throat. Jesus, is she going to have to _usher_ her now? The umbrella's ridiculously small for two, so now they're forced to stay close together like sardines.

Great.

The walk to the group home is silent. Riley bites her tongue the whole time, forcing her eyes to look straight ahead.

It takes ten years.

By the time they reach the front door, the redhead turns around to face her. Large, green orbs that pierce through the same way they did earlier. The way the girl's looking at her makes Riley think that she's about to say something. She stands there and waits, even if it takes away seconds from her life.

But the redhead turns back forward, hurries to the front door, and opens it without uttering a word.

_Of course._

Riley scoffs softly in disbelief—because what does she expect?—and turns on her heel to head back to the car.

But a single word ropes her back.

"Ellie,"

She turns around so fast she practically spins. She finds the redhead inside the house, the door's partly open to reveal half her body. The rain has blown her words to make them sound soft, but she heard it.

She just doesn't want to believe it.

Riley blinks and stutters. "What?"

And the girl smiles at her.

It's the first time she ever does.

"My name is Ellie."

* * *

**Congratulations, you two dorks. You've finally introduced yourselves properly.**

**Feel free to share and leave your thoughts in a review below, thanks for all the support, I'll see you soon x**


	3. Roadblock

**I'm alive! It's been so long. I hope you've missed these two, because I sure as hell did.**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

**ROADBLOCK**

* * *

**RILEY**

She stands there for a moment, not speaking. She's playing out in her head how she'd say her name. How it would sound like. _Ellie._

Huh.

It's a pretty cute name for a pretty strange girl.

Riley needs to stop herself from smiling in disbelief, so she breaks out of the small trance and looks back at the redhead. She's standing there, looking as tiny as ever under that doorway.

_This is weird,_ she realized, _this whole scenario. But in a good way._

The thunderstorm was starting to be a blessing in disguise, ironically. Because Riley never thought she'd see her again. It was too unlikely. After having that moment at the mall which was probably her most uncomfortable conversation she's ever had to experience, she's surprised to have even gotten this far.

"Listen," Riley slowly speaks up, looking apologetic. It's her shot at trying to have a legitimate talk without fucking up. She doesn't know where she's going with this, but she can at least try. "Back at the mall? I'm sorry, if I made you ... you know. I just—"

"No, it's not you." Ellie stops her timidly, and she bites her lip, like cutting people off isn't something the girl's done before. " ...I'm just not good with people."

And for once, Riley gets it. She understands. She remembers the first impression she had on her, _the weird kid, _and something similar to guilt seeps into her for judging her so harshly in the beginning. Ellie doesn't seem as bad as she used to think. She's just more... reserved, that's all. Introverted in a sense.

"Well... I guess you can consider this as progress then," Riley says, and progress it is, because _h__oly shit, this is the longest time we've talked to each other so far._

"Yeah." She lets out a coy laugh. "Progress."

Time stretches a bit, and there's thunder heard in the distance. The sound of rain hitting the concrete wanes over them.

"I think you should head back," Ellie says after a moment, looking up at the sky like she needed to convince herself that raindrops do indeed fall from clouds. "Before the storm gets, uh, stronger."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty soaked already," Riley gives a warm, lopsided smile. "And s'alright, I don't think it can get any—"

Henry starts honking.

Riley looks back, she sees that antsy look of his and it amuses her how impatient he can get whenever it rains. She remembers someone telling Henry once about the horrors of hydroplaning, and now he's scared shitless whenever a storm comes. It gives her a good laugh each time she recalls it. Riley gets the memo, though. Limited time. She faces Ellie with the same small, crooked smile, and they both nod heads to each other.

"Have a safe trip back," the redhead says with some sort of finality. Riley's almost sad about wrapping up the whole thing. She doesn't want her knowing that, unfortunately, and acts casual. (Which is funny, since it's hard to act casual with the rain crashing relentlessly on her, but whatever.)

"Yeah. See you around, Ellie."

_It even sounds weird saying her name for the first time._ Not the bad kind of weird — but weird nonetheless. She secretly wishes that this won't actually be the last time they get to talk to each other, because she just wants to see her again somehow. Riley can't figure out where the need is coming from.

The two girls exchange final looks before Riley turns around and starts heading back for the car. Her socks are squelching inside of her sneakers, but she doesn't seem to feel the discomfort. When she walks, it's like she's oblivious to the rain and everything else. What she notices, though, is Ellie's voice. It catches her attention again for the nth time.

"Thank you," Ellie calls out, as soon as Riley's reached a reasonable distance away from her. Her voice battles with the roar of the rain, but she heard it. Riley looks back and sees her again. The redhead's eyes seem lighter. Her whole expression seems lighter, actually, and it's making Riley feel tingly. The good sense of tingly. The kind of tingly that makes her satisfied and content from all the turmoil she had to go through today.

Because of it, she smirks back at her.

_No problem._

And as she returns back to the car where Henry's waiting, the small smile Riley's tried to hide earlier has managed to sneak back and linger. She lets it stay, she doesn't care.

That thank-you actually felt genuine.

**x**

The car door closes. Henry's antsy attitude ensues.

"Shit, kid. Took you long enough."

"Sorry for the wait."

"Eh, s'okay." Henry takes one look at her and scoffs. "Got yourself drenched again."

"Yeah, Henry, _I've got eyes._" She buckles up her seatbelt. "We just had a chat."

"Mmm, about what, Sunday football?"

Riley rolls her eyes. With all that sarcasm, Henry never really got that I'm-your-disciplinary-guardian thing right. He was too much of a geeky cousin.

"This'll be a bitch to dry up, no doubt. Especially these car seats and floorboards..." He tuts, then changes gears so the Legacy gets in motion. "I have no idea why you'd have a chat out in the middle of a storm as bad as this, kid. Shit, you could've just texted each other on _Messenger _or something."

Riley moves around in her seat. "She's got that old Nokia, though," she murmurs.

"What?"

"Nothin', _boss_." She turns on the radio and leans into her seat. "Let's just head home, I hate sitting on my ass wet."

* * *

**ELLIE**

Riley's words are repeating in her head.

_Progress._

Yeah.

At least there was progress.

It's been a while, and she'd gone upstairs earlier to dry and change into more homey clothes, AKA, a tank top and shorts. Ellie's waiting in the laundry room now, listening to the low hum of the dryer which is filled with the wet clothes she'd worn. There's a small window in the room so she looks out to view the outside and _jeez_, it's probably still storming like hell. The rain's pretty much having a fit. It pours relentlessly on the roof that the constant patter of it is audible. Her mind is sort of fuzzy and throbbing from everything, so Ellie starts tapping mindlessly with one foot, allowing herself to lean on the wall to process the things that she had to go through today.

She's probably filled up her outdoor quota for the rest of the month.

_That's a fucking achievement._

Ellie looks up at the ceiling and grips onto the Walkman she's been holding in her left hand, just to validate that she has it this time. A flashing memory passes by her conscience — it's Riley. From earlier today, handing her over the Walkman with a sheepishness that didn't suit her. The image sits strangely in her head and it makes Ellie think about the encounter for some time before she grabs the dangling earphones from the Walkman and wears them on. She's been wanting to listen for so long that she presses the play button and waits. When the music erupts with energy, she just smiles with complacence and simple joy.

Hell. Yes.

It's been a while since she's heard her own music, and it just makes everything around her feel so much more better. She can hardly believe she survived that long without it. She scoffs to herself, _the shit I do for you_, and squeezes the Walkman, closing her eyes as she lets herself breathe, to recollect her thoughts.

_Man._

Today was fucking exhausting.

It's Pink Floyd that's playing, and it kind of makes her crave for something fizzy for some reason. Like a soda. A soda would be really good right now. It would probably clear the fuzziness out of her head, too. Ellie realizes that it's going to take a while before her clothes would be fully dry, so she takes that as a chance to leave and starts heading towards the kitchen in the fridge.

She approaches the room, enters, and finds a woman leaning by the counter.

Out-of-place. Tall. Unusually calm.

Marlene.

_Crap._

There's an unwanted silence. Ellie's startled for a moment and takes her earphones off. She tries to speak, but the words are starting to jumble in her mouth.

"Oh. Hey," she greets, not-so-casually. "I ... thought you'd be coming tomorrow."

Marlene's lips are thinned. For the most part, she was always a woman who carried around an air of sternness. Her sharp-featured, angled face of forty-something seems to look better since the last time she saw her, but there's a certain tiredness in her demeanor that never seems to fade. From the looks of things, she's been expecting Ellie.

And the redhead's not liking it at all.

"I had some time to visit. Trevor told me you were off," the woman replies, in a somewhat fixated manner, her eyes are on Ellie, scrutinizing. They squint a little. "Heard you coming inside a while back. Where were you?"

_Christ, not this again._

Ellie gulps down some nervousness, trying not to think about the fact that Marlene had been under the same roof as her for like fifteen minutes without her awareness of it. There's an alibi forming in her head, and she hopes to God it's believable.

"Just at a friend of mine's. Hannah, from across the street. I told Trevor."

The woman observes her silently.

"_From across the street..._" Marlene repeated, looking out of the window to her right. "Considering the distance, I didn't think Hannah would take you back here by car."

Ellie freezes.

_Shit._

She saw. She knows it's a lie.

"That girl, was she Hannah?"

Jesus.

Marlene's voice was still so goddamn calm and authoritarian.

"Her name's Riley."

"That's far from Hannah. You've known each other long?"

Ellie shook her head. "We ... just met recently."

"So you lied."

She says it in a more matter-of-fact way than anything else, but it still sends Ellie spiraling down into a guilt-trip rabbit hole. The redhead replies with shameful silence. Green eyes downcast.

_I'm sorry._

Marlene shakes her head and speaks quietly, "Christ, Ellie..." and Ellie can feel the disappointment. Hell, she can practically smell it coming out of her. It's reeking.

And she hates it.

She hates doing this to her. It makes her feel ashamed, because it's such a stupid thing to be ashamed of. Sure, Ellie didn't like being too overprotected, but she doesn't want to be the reason why that woman has gray streaks in her hair. She doesn't want to be a liability.

Marlene pinches the bridge of her nose, closes her eyes, and breathes out. By the time she opens them, she spots some scratches near Ellie's elbows. Her eyes grow in concern.

"You're hurt." It's obvious that the coolness in her voice is starting to chip away. Ellie tries to hide the wounds, even though she knows there's no point.

"It's nothing."

"No, Ellie..."

"I'm _okay_, Marlene. It doesn't sting as much." She doesn't like the way the woman's looking at her. Like she's some hurt puppy. The pent-up frustration is building. "Look, just let me go up and—"

But Marlene isn't listening. She starts to approach and presses for more. Ellie knows she's just caring for her, that she's concerned more than anything, but the way she shows it gets so _fucking_ intolerable.

"How did you get them?"

_God._

There really is no easy way out of this.

Ellie sighs. "I fell trying to ride a bicycle I found."

"That you just found, out in the _open__? _Ellie, did you really think it would be that easy?"

"Of course not, but ... I had to try. I - I needed to get to Liberty Gardens."

"The mall?"

Marlene's gaining the heat. She's about to go off soon, Ellie can feel it.

"Yeah, but Riley brought me back with their car—"

"You were on your own getting there, and you thought using a decrepit bike would work. Do you have _any_ idea how far that is?"

"I know, I just - I needed to go so I could—"

"_No_."

Her voice is strong. It stops Ellie in her tracks.

"No - you had _no thought_ of your own safety." Not even ten minutes in, and Marlene's scolding her already. Ellie's about to be filled to the brim. "What if the accident was much worse, then what? Is that the kind of stress you want to put on us? On me? Just for a trip to the mall, you're willing to put your life at _risk?_"

"Marlene, I didn't go there for—"

"And once that was done, you thought it'd be a good idea to hitchhike your way back here. Jesus, Ellie, you _know_ how careless that is. I've seen how this world is, and you don't even know how some people are. You don't know how unpredictable they can _get._ That naivete of yours is going to put you in danger. It's going to get you—"

She's had enough.

"Just _listen!_"

Ellie's putting her fucking foot down.

"I just wanted to get my"—the exasperation is so contained that it bursts out of her, splattering the whole room—"my _stupid_ Walkman back, okay? _This one!_" She juts the little piece of outdated technology out for Marlene and the whole fucking world to see. Her voice is loud, and it's probably catching the attention of the other kids upstairs, but she doesn't give a flying fuck. "I left it at the mall the first time. And yeah, it might've not been the best idea to do it on my own, but—Jesus—I didn't want to _burden_ you, Marlene. You're always worrying and talking about the problems you're having and, shit, I just didn't want to fucking burden _anyone!_"

Her hold on the Walkman is tight. She allows Marlene to soak in everything, Ellie breathes in shakily and blinks at her coldly before speaking again.

"I got it back. On my own." Her words are drawn slowly. "I'm alive. I'm _fine_. Let me leave it at that."

Silence.

Marlene tries to come around.

"...Ellie—"

But she doesn't hear want to hear another word of it.

She leaves the kitchen and storms her way up to her room, slamming the door shut behind her.

* * *

**RILEY**

Evening messaging was always one of her favorite pastimes, mainly because her show wasn't on yet, but whatever. Tino's texting her right now.

_Tino 21:21:30 "You fucked up"_

_Riley 21:21:37 "No, I didnt"_

_Tino 21:21:48 "uh yeah. u did. too bad, she seemed real chill"_

_Riley 21:21:59 "is there anything else you have to say? i'm not missing GoT for this"_

_Tino 21:22:04 "u shoulda asked her if she wanted to hang out soon"_

_Riley 21:22:08 "I didnt even know if she wanted that"_

_Tino 21:22:12 "so what? lol jus saying u missed an opportunity"_

(Thanks, Tino. It's not like everything she does feels like a missed opportunity already).

_Riley 21:22:20: "opportunity to what? braid her hair, invite her to teaparties and shit?"_

_Tino 21:22:26: "no freakass, the opportunity to get her NUMBER"_

_Riley 21:22:31: "not once did that pop into my mind"_

_Tino 21:22:40: "yeah well, you bet if that was me i'd be all over that lol"_

Riley frowns at the text before he goes ahead and starts typing her up again.

_Tino 21:24:33 "__how do you know if you're going to see each other again?"_

_Riley 21:24:37 "I don't."_

_Tino 21:25:01 "LOL. yeah, you really messed up there"_

_Riley 21:25:09 "stfu?"_

Tino sends a heart emoji. She rolls her eyes.

Riley puts her phone down on the table, readjusting her position as she's lying on the couch. Even if Tino was generally a pain in her ass, he has a point. Riley has no idea when she'll be seeing Ellie again. She knows where she lives, but _hell_, they've only introduced themselves to each other a couple of hours ago.

And they met _days_ before that. Considering that rate, it could take a year before Riley actually feels comfortable enough visiting her place.

Plus, it's weird.

Like, Riley doesn't even know why she wants to see her again even if they just did. She doesn't know why the girl's gotten so much of her attention. Ellie's just... strange. Something Riley hasn't seen before. The redhead wears huge jackets, has scratches on her arms (and acts like they're not there), has a scar on her eyebrow, owns outdated electronics, struggles with talking to others, and lives in a group home. Riley had no idea people like her could exist. It's crazy.

_And she's crazy enough to be interesting._

It's probably why she wants to see her again, as much as she doesn't want to believe it.

"Has Sam called you yet?"

Right. Sam was supposed to come home, only he hasn't and it's been eating at the two of them recently. Riley grabs her phone and checks the call history. "No. Thought he was gonna call you?"

"Ain't a call so far." There's a certain anxiety in Henry's voice, and Riley knows what it means.

Potential trouble.

He approaches the couch, and Riley sits up to offer him a seat which he takes promptly. It's almost getting late. The air is quiet and tense. Henry takes a look at the time on his phone, then sighs heavily, dipping his head back as he does.

"Kid's supposed to be home an hour ago."

"Lemme try calling him."

"Already did. Twice."

Riley purses her lips, unlocking her phone. Goddamn it, Sam.

"Third time's the charm, then."

* * *

**ELLIE**

Face down.  
Head in her pillows.

This is the position she uses when she's done with everything.

At least her bed doesn't feel like it's being burdened by her, despite her weight.

_Unlike fucking Marlene._

Ellie lets out a sigh. A deep, angry sigh that practically negates her whole room. She's mad at the world.

Again.

Because good things were just finally happening in her uneventful life. Real good things. But now her day's getting soured like it always does because Marlene's decided to bring her gloom along with her when she came to visit.

She could've given her a heads-up or something before coming, too. Like a fucking text before she went on ahead to wait for Ellie in the kitchen for God-knows-how_-_long.

Christ.

For some reason, she still feels guilty for being upset at Marlene, even if she has every right to be. Ellie assumes that the woman's still down there, and she starts to wonder if she really did deserve the scolding. She did lie, after all. But if she didn't set up that alibi, then Trevor wouldn't have let her out, and Ellie would have never gotten her Walkman back, nor would she have met with Riley.

The name rings in her head like a bell.

_Riley._

Chocolate-eyed, calm and collected Riley. With her hoodie and her hair up in a tight bun. With her hands tucked in her pockets and a cool, silly smile. Ellie wouldn't be in such a mess if she hadn't met her.

She wouldn't have left her Walkman if she didn't bump into Riley in the first pla—

_No,_ Ellie tells herself.

_Don't even _think_ about putting this on her. You were the one being shy in the first place. It made you clumsy._

So why was she so fucking clumsy?

Was this her own fault?  
The fact that she didn't know better?  
The fact that she couldn't handle things normally or talk to people properly like everyone else?

The thought of it causes her hands to ball into fists, she clenches her jaw in frustration and presses her face against the pillow hard, angered by her own helplessness.

She doesn't even want to think about it.

Right now, she just wants to be done with everything.

* * *

**RILEY**

Sam wasn't answering.

It was enough to put both of them in a state of immense worrying, because they're already back in the car, ready to check over at the house where he was apparently staying in.

"What was that kid's name — Nathan Gentry?" It's dark and the rain hasn't stopped. Henry brightens the car's headlights and leans closer to the windshield. "The one with the brick townhouse from Philips street?"

Riley checks on the maps in her phone. "Yeah, it's sort of south from the West End district. Near the state house. You remember?"

"Yeah, don't need Google Maps. We can roll."

It's a quiet, tense drive getting there.

By the time they arrive, it's already past ten — three hours after Sam's supposed return, with no texts or calls whatsoever. The lights from the house are on, and Riley hopes to God that Sam was just having a sleepover and forgot to tell them about it. (That would have been too easy, though, and she knows that).

They exit out of the car with raincoats and umbrellas. A pale-skinned man wearing home clothes and a bathrobe emerges from the house after three knocks and a ring of the doorbell. He looks rather surprised to have people at this hour, much less at this weather.

"Can I help you two?" He's trying not to sound tired, there's a mug of coffee in his hand. Looking at it reminds Riley that it's been a while since she had her caffeine fix.

"Sorry for disturbing y'all, but do you have a son named Nathan Gentry? I'm Henry. My younger brother Samuel's a friend of his. He said he was going here for the afternoon and was s'posed to come home hours ago. Have you seen him?"

The man raises his eyebrows. "You mean Sam? Yeah, he was here with Nate. Name's Tony. They went out to head to some pizza place, returned, and Nate said your brother left at around 8. I was out, so I didn't see him go."

_Didn't see him go._ Shit. That's a red flag, all right. And he left_ two hours_ _ago?_ Riley pictures Sam out in the rain, it churns her from the inside. Christ, the kid may be thirteen, but he's still a kid.

"Could we ask Nate about where he might think he'd be?" Riley asks softly, tremors of worry hitting her stomach. Tony scratches his head, trying to find the right words, trying to lessen the anxiety he's giving the two of them. "I'm really sorry to say this, but Nate's asleep right now. He's been having some sort of mean headache ever since they got back. He'd wobble and stir, so his mother gave him some medicine that puts him in deep. Tried waking him up for dinner, but he's out cold. Wouldn't budge even if I tried now."

And that's it. He's useless to them, and that's Henry and Riley's final red flag. It was no longer a matter of when Sam would come back, but _if _he would come back. They have no idea where he is, and no way to contact him. The creeping panic's settling in now. Riley can sense the urgency rising and it doesn't sit well with her at all.

"No, something ain't right," Henry says anxiously, but it sounds like he's muttering it to himself. He brings out his phone frantically and checks his messages. Tony's visibly worried, he takes a look at Henry and shifts his gaze to the girl. "Has he called you at all?"

Riley shakes her head, she's got her phone out now too. "No, sir. That's why we came here."

"He stopped replying to my messages at 6:30. Last he said was that he'd be home soon." Henry's too taught and his voice rickety, Riley tries to soothe him by rubbing his arm, like she's always done when he was close to a state of panic. Henry's no stranger to the attacks, and the girl's been trying to make it easy for him for as long as she could remember.

Nate's father is putting the pieces together. Then it hits him. An expression of confusion changes to complete apprehension. A horrible feeling of fear grips and freezes across Riley's chest.

"Oh, no... I ... I can't imagine how this is all is for the two of you." Tony pauses for a moment, thinking, before he has an idea. "Why don't you come in, call the authorities, and maybe I can try to wake Nate up to see if he's got any—"

Henry's phone starts ringing. A call in the dark.

He answers it without missing a beat and immediately puts it on speaker.

"Hello?" They all dread for a reply.

A pause. Then there's a hard, authoritarian voice on the other end. "Apologies for the late disturbance, am I speaking to Mr. Henry Everett?"

Fuck. Fuckity fuck. _Fuck. Please don't tell me it's a cop._

"Yes, it's him speaking." Henry's words are tiny and withdrawn. Like they've been chewed up and stomped on.

"Mr. Everett, this is Officer Barnes of District A-15 of the Boston Police Department," he stops momentarily, and it's enough to sink Riley's heart down into her chest. She has an idea of what it could be, but she doesn't even want to think about it. _No,_ she thinks._ Don't continue. Just stop. End the call._ But it doesn't, and she waits.

They all wait. In the dark, standing there. The dim streetlamp accompanies the Legacy as the roar of the rain crashes down on them. The short silence is unbearable.

Until.

"Your next of kin, Samuel Everett, has been in an incident."

* * *

**Since our city kept suspending school due to weather conditions, I decided to dig this series back up and get it starting again. _Thank you so much for being patient_, I'm already working on the next chapter and trying to think about how to advance with my other series, TA Part 2. As always, please leave your thoughts in a review! Would love to hear from all of you after so long x**

**-Taco**


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